I Can't Think of a Clever Title
by Zuiri
Summary: Mature language & content. When Lisa reveals her brother is alive, the Legends race to save their friend and destroy the Legion of Doom. Ships: Captain Canary & (some) GoldenWave
1. Heroes Get RememberedOr Some Shit

**A/N* Hello everyone! This is my first fanfic for DC's Legends of Tomorrow, and my second fanfic posted to the site. (My other writing is a Game of Thrones (TV) piece titled "War", feel free to check it up!)**

 **There are a few things I feel you, as a reader, should know about me and this story:  
1) I'm a slow writer. I will NEVER abandon a piece. But it may be a month or two between chapters. **

**2) I am a true-blue comic book/superhero fan. And may be using some comic book elements with these characters (mainly Captain Cold)**

 **3) If you came here looking for any Heatwave x Vixen or Golden Glider x Vibe shipping, turn away. This is not the fanfic for you.**

 **4) My fanfics will always be for mature audiences. I use foul language, sex, sexual situations, and graphic/descriptive violence in my writing.**

 **And finally:**

 **I do not own DC's Legends of Tomorrow. I am not making money in any way from this writing.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **HEROES GET REMEMBERED...OR SOME SHIT**

 _9:36 PM - Central City_

 _January 17, 2017_

The second the Waverider touches ground, he calls Lisa.

It rings. _Don't be anxious. No one answers on the first one._

He waits. A frown set on his hardened and scarred face. He leans against the doorway of the ship's library, one hand shoved in his pocket. He was alone - his team currently on the bridge while he delayed their meeting. They can wait. He has an obligation right now.

It rings. _Twice - that's alright. Might be lookin' for her phone._

He lets out a shaky breath. His foot taps nervously. When he'd last seen Lisa Snart, he came with horrible, _horrible_ news. Her beloved brother, her protector, her provider, had died and was _never_ coming home.

Once he'd told her of the Time Masters and the Oculus, Lisa had weeped while curled in a ball on her couch; wailing and cursing up a storm. She'd blamed Rip Hunter and the others for _tricking_ Leonard into stepping onto the Waverider.

But Mick had shook his head to that. Snart's fate had always been to join the Legends of Tomorrow. And his death was honorable and selfless.

"And he wouldn't want you to cry, kid." He'd offered. Though it had only made her sob more.

It rings. _She's fine. It's early, she's probably out._

Lisa'd always been wild and rambunctious. She partied often. She got into fights. Her knack for thievery was similar to her brother's, but she was reckless. You can't _afford_ to be reckless in the line of work the Snart's did - Leonard had always known that. Lisa could get too cocky and daring, raising her chances of getting caught.

 _If she's pullin' a job..._ he shakes his head. S _he don't need a babysitter. She's Snart's sister,_ he tries to calm himself. _She's got brains._

He'd told her to lay low for a while and gave her some cash Gideon, the ship's AI, had fabricated for him beforehand. He shouldn't worry, she's capable of taking care of herself.

 _She has her gold gun_ , he remembers. _Snart taught her how to fight_. And she has such an _attitude_ that he doubts anyone would bother her.

It rings _again_. And then pauses.

"Lisa? It's Mi-"

"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavail-"

"Damn it." He mutters before leaving a message. "Lisa." His voice is raspy. "I'm back for a while. Lemme come see yah." He hesitates before adding, "Please". He hangs up and stares at the Android's main screen.

He'd hoped to speak with her, ask her how she's doing. Check up on her, really. It's the _least_ he could do for her. For Snart.

He can't help the worry hitting him. The guilt he'd felt for the loss of his friend had coupled itself with an intense weight of responsibility. And immediately, Mick had taken it upon himself to ensure Lisa's safety.

 _Boss wouldn't want her completely alone._

However, _finding_ Lisa had become difficult. She was constantly on the move and undetectable. Her brother had taught her to change her location frequently and avoid calls or texts from unknown phone numbers.

Quickly, he punches the buttons of his phone to send her a simple text.

 _It's me. I'm back._

Minutes pass by slowly as he waits. Nothing comes. And he begins to wonder if he had the correct number - maybe she'd had it changed?

Eventually he pushes himself from the wall and pockets his phone again. Unintentionally, he paces and tries to reason away his overbearing need to track her down. Lisa _is_ a grown woman after all. She doesn't _need_ him treating her like a child. And she definitely doesn't _need_ to return his call or let him visit her home.

 _She's fine,_ he tells himself again. _Relax._

But he doesn't. And anxiety keeps pricking at the back of his mind.

* * *

When Mick rounds the corner and comes to the bridge of the Waverider, Sara Lance is eyeing him. Her arms are crossed as she waits for the last of her crew to enter and settle himself among the others. One by one they stood around the center console in the middle of the room.

"So," Sara begins. "We're home and back in our original timeline. I'm sorry we couldn't get closer to our intended date."

"That fault is mine, Captain Lance." Gideon's voice rang overhead. "I seem to have mistargeted your directions."

"We missed Christmas," Jax points out glumly. "My mom is going to be so -"

"She'll be happy to see you alive." Mick interrupts. It's not a lie. And he doesn't care that it came out rough.

"Look," Sara starts again. "I'm giving us all an extended vacation. Okay? We not only missed Christmas; we were gone for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, _and_ New Years. We all owe our loved ones time together and _some sort_ of explanation."

"What about Rex's killer?" Amaya frowns. She has always been direct with her mission and focused on nothing but completing it. Mick knows this and so does the rest of the team.

He glares at her. "We got shit of our own too, Tiger."

"Don't call me that." She snaps back. Her dark brown eyes shooting daggers at him. "And _I_ don't have anything to do or anyone to visit in 2017. Everyone important to _me_ are still in 1942. There is no point in my being stuck _here_ when Rex's killer is still out t _here_. I cannot conduct a proper search here, I can't -"

"I am able to help you with that Miss Jiwe," Gideon pipes up. "My database and research features are more than sufficient and capable than technology from the current year we have landed in."

"There," Sara says. "You _cannot_ fly off with our ship. Understand that? Gideon, Amaya is unauthorized to pilot the Waverider and strand us here. "

"Affirmatively, Captain Lance."

Before Amaya can counter, Sara continues. "We'll play it by ear and see if we can make it to the end of January before we absolutely _need_ to leave again. Unless Gideon detects an emergency that we can't ignore or avoid, I'll let you guys have a break. Sound fair?"

"What about Rip?" Ray had his eyebrows furrowed with concern. "We can't just give up on him."

Sara tries to smile reassuringly, but Mick can see the tension in her jaw. "We're not. Gideon will continue to analyze the timeline and anything that could lead us to Rip. We can't do anything for him without some kind of a lead."

To the rest of the team, she says "Keep your comms with you, just in case." And then they're dismissed and free to go about their vacation.

Mick lags behind, eyes on Sara as she leans on the console. "You gonna go see your mom?"

She looks up from the digital panel she'd been studying. "Oh, uh, probably not. She moved into her boyfriend's place and there's only one bedroom. And," she shrugs. "I don't feel like couching it for the night."

Mick grunts. "So, you're stayin' in again?"

She'd become _such_ a hermit as of late. During any pit stops they'd made, to catch their breath after a completed mission, Sara would stay aboard the Waverider and throw herself into more work. She'd closed herself off in her private quarters and studied maps and files, looking for anything to point them towards the lost Rip Hunter or Rex Tyler's murderer.

"Yeah," Sara nods. "I think so. I've got a lot of work to -"

"Come out just for a drink, Blondie. Just one."

Her face falls, though she attempts a small smile for him. "I can't Mick. I should -"

"You shouldn't hole yourself up here. It ain't good for yah." He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at her pointedly. He knows she hasn't forgiven herself for her sister's death - even though it was _never_ her fault to begin with. Facing her mother probably seems close to torture for her, and Mick doesn't blame her for opting out.

He knows being appointed the Captain of the team in Rip's absence has left her with newfound responsibility and dedication. She takes her new role seriously and with a duty she can't evade. Every mistake the team makes weighs on her conscious and character. Every plot and point and strategy has to be perfectly made, and Sara spends _hours_ trying to decide the best courses of action.

And he knows she misses Snart. She won't admit it outloud - _everyone_ was mourning him in their own, silent ways. But he knows that sometimes, the tears brimming her eyes aren't meant just for the departed Laurel Lance or lost Rip hunter.

He doesn't know how to comfort a crumbling heart - let alone one that's been attacked by two tragedies. But he knows how to push back at the pain until it's nearly numb and almost forgettable. Even if just for one night.

"Come on," he says again. "There's a joint nearby."

"Mick, really," She tries. "I don't -"

"Come _on,_ Blondie. I'm not takin' that shit today."

"It's not shit."

"It _is_ shit." He growls. "You just told the team we _all_ need time off. That includes _you._ "

She sighs and refuses to meet his eyes. She's quiet for a moment, as if weighing whether she can get out of this or not. She doesn't _want_ to go, he knows. She _could_ avert his proposal and leave for her room.

Finally, she nods. "Fine."

"Good," he cocks a grin. "You're buyin'."

* * *

It's a dingy place; not the kind easily found and simply named "Foster's Bar"- according to the flashing green sign in the single square window. The door is old and stained with piss from the drunks or homeless who pass by. It stands between a laundromat and a convenience store that both operate 'round the clock. It isn't fancy or special; just a hole in the wall, really.

Inside it's all dim lighting and mediocrity. There isn't a stage for entertainment here. There's a few tables with chairs, booths along the wall, and a counter at the bar with stools facing a shelf of bottled alcohol and beer taps. A few posters of classic movies or rock 'n roll bands from the 80s and 90s hang on the walls. The only bathroom is placed towards the back kitchen with a handwritten sign that reads OUT OF ORDER.

It's small, plain, and practically empty. An old man sits on a stool, hunched over a glass of whiskey and staring blankly. Another man occupies a table near the center of the room, a newspaper opened to the daily crossword. His knee bounces while he munches on a sandwich with one hand as the other writes his answers to the puzzle. A few others sit sporadically among the establishment, yet the place is by no means "packed". The bartender leans idly behind the register, reading sales reports and making notes on a pad resting to his right. His bar back restocks the pint glasses. A waitress hurries through a pair of swinging doors and into the kitchen, her red ringlets bouncing from the speed of her pace.

At a booth near the back, Mick sits across from Sara. He holds a longneck bottle in his hands and his eyes are full of fire as he stares at the drink. He says nothing to Sara, but watches carefully as she slugs back a handful of tequila shots before ten minutes go by. She hasn't spoken much to him either. Instead, they leave each other to their own thoughts.

He sneaks a glance at her, bringing his own drink to his lips and finishing in two long chugs. She looks _sad_ , as she stares down at her folded hands. She takes in a deep breath, lets out a sigh, and meets his gaze.

"I miss him, Mick." Her words are barely above a whisper, but it's enough for him to hear.

A wince, and then, "...me too, Blondie."

It's all they'll allow themselves to openly say. And only in the company of each other, at most.

Sara's eyes look glazed and red-rimmed as she stares down again. She's not a weak woman, he knows. And emotions are hard for her, just as for him. And so he does the only thing he thinks may help.

"Another?" He nods at her four empty shot glasses.

She shrugs in response and Mick takes that as 'yes'.

When he returns with their drinks he has two shots of tequila for Sara, instead of one. "Just in case," he hands her the pair and reclaims his seat.

They sit in silence again. Sara doesn't touch her booze. Mick slowly sips at his own. She avoids looking at him, lost in her thoughts. It suits him fine, his own attention flitting back to his prior worry over Lisa Snart's whereabouts.

He glances at his watch, reading 11:19PM. They'd been at the bar for a little under an hour, and it'd been almost two hours since he first called Lisa and left a message. He pulls his Android out - for practically the _millionth_ time - and checks for missed messages.

Nothing, still.

He sighs and returns the device to his pocket. Sara watches him, an eyebrow raised in question.

"It's nothin'," Mick mutters.

She eyes him curiously, before something behind him catches her attention. She frowns, rolls her eyes and grumbles below her breath. "Damn it."

Raising an eyebrow, he casually looks over his shoulder to see what has Blondie's mood twisting.

The Atom stands at the door, looking lost.

"Oh dear God," Mick mutters, taking in the sight of his teammate. Ray's wearing a fake, _scraggly_ -looking beard concealing the entire lower half of his face. Big, dark aviator-style sunglasses cover the rest. Tufts of dark brown hair stick out from under a bright red baseball hat that caps his head, the bill pulled down low over his brow. To everyone else in the bar he is a nobody, the same as them. And no one bothers to pay him any mind.

To Mick, there is no mistaking the tall, broad shouldered technologist. He stands upright, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans; his shoulders square. When Ray sees them, he smiles and waves.

Mick rolls his eyes and drinks. Within minutes Ray is sitting across from him and next Sara with a brew of his own.

"You look dumb," Mick deadpans. Sara snickers.

Ray looks shocked at the insult. "I'm in disguise," he clarifies.

"Why? Ain't you supposed to be dead?"

"Well, yes. And my life was in Star City - not here, six-hundred miles away. But, you know," Ray shrugs. "This is just in case."

Mick stares at him, brow furrowed. "Why is the beard so long?"

"What?" Ray touches his phony whiskers. "Does it not look authentic?"

"You look disgusting. Like a hippy."

"But I _don't_ look like Ray Palmer, right?" His eyes are giddy.

Sara own eyes roll upward in annoyance. "What are you doing here, Ray?"

His smile fades a little, and it's easy to sense his nervousness. "Well, uh" he clears his throat . "Just checking on you guys. How-how _is_ everything?"

Mick takes a drink of his beer, giving Ray a long look. Sara glares at him before slamming back one of her tequila shots. Neither speak and the space is suddenly filled with tension.

"I just - you know," Ray stumbles over his words. "We're back in our _original timeline_ , in _Central City._ And-and I'm sure there's just a lot of _feelings_ in there - in you. And I just thought that, maybe, you know, you guys might-"

"- need to _talk_?' Mick finishes for him, eyeing the Atom with an intense flare.

"Uh, well," Ray fidgets. "Yeah."

"Don't do feelin's, Ray." His voice rumbles lowly. Sara snaps "We're fine" at the same time.

"I"m not suggesting that you _do_ , or that you _aren't,_ " Ray shakes his head. "I'm just - we, the team - we're _worried._ "

"Don't be," Mick instructs. "Doin' just fine."

"Yeah," Ray scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Because drinking away your problems is _so_ helpful."

" _That_ ," Sara slams down another finished shot, "is not for you to _judge_." She frowns at Ray.

"Fault me for caring," he shrugs. "But at least _someone_ does. Self destructive behavior is common when someone you love has -"

"Oh my God," Sara rubs a hand over her face. "We're just - we're _fine_ , Ray. Okay? Please?"

The look in her eyes is obvious, though Ray refuses to acknowledge it.

"I'm just -"

"Don't, Haircut." Mick growls, angry at the accusations Ray is laying on them. "Leave it be. Blondie an' I came here for a few drinks and _limited_ conversation."

Ray purses his lips together, an act suggesting he'd like to say more, but doesn't. They continue to sit together, dodging all conversation regarding absent teammates and buried loved ones. From time to time Ray looks like he might speak up about _feelings_ again - but each time he stops himself. Sara avoids eye contact with either men, and instead keeps her sights down.

It's _awkward_. Every moment of it. And it's too much even for _him._ The team is something different now. Something... _broken_ without Snart or Hunter. And each of the Legends can feel it. They dance around each other, keeping interactions limited - save for briefings for missions and training. Almost as if afraid to grow close to one another; afraid of losing someone else. Even Nate and Amaya quickly caught onto the unspeakable feeling of loss, guilt, and tragedy that filled the Waverider.

Unexpectedly, Mick's phone vibrates. He jolts slightly, remembering he's been waiting for word from Lisa. He reaches inside his pocket for the gadget. A single text shows on the main screen.

 _22 B Avenue, Apartment #34. Hurry._

When he looks up again, Ray and Sara are giving him the same questioning look. Without explanation, he simply answers, "I gotta go." And leaves.

* * *

 **The address Lisa had sent him is on the other side of the city. And by the time Mick finds the lower-end apartment complex, it's well passed midnight.**

 _Hurry,_ the text had said. Adrenaline fed his earlier apprehension over Lisa's status, and his pace quickens as he climbs the stairs to her door. His knock is rushed and loud, but he pays no mind. _Hurry._ She needs him. _Hurry._

"Oh, thank _God_ ," The door whips open and Lisa grabs his wrist, practically yanking his arm out of socket as she pulls him into her apartment.

"Shit," he grunts, nearly stumbling. He catches himself before slamming into her.

The curtains are pulled down and the lights are low in her small living room. Yet, when Mick straightens himself and gets a decent look at Lisa, he can make out the sizable swollen, purple bruise covering her right eye and cheekbone. Her lip has been split; it's bloody and fat. Red marks dot the skin of her neck - like fingers had been wrapped around her.

"What the _fuck_?!" Mick growls and steps towards her. He reaches out to cup her cheek with his rough, calloused hand. Lisa winces at the pain of his touch, but doesn't shy away. "Who did this to you?"

He feels heat rising and boiling from deep within his chest. Rage. Not at Lisa, no. At whoever had _dared_ to touch her like this. At himself, for being gone for too long. He'd let her down - he'd let _Snart_ down. He could have stopped this from happened. He'd burn the world to keep her safe.

When she answers, his maddening fire worsens. "Sam Scudder found me…" She shrugs like it's no big deal. Mick hates it. "Said he was settling a score."

"Motherfucker's _dead_." His eyes are blazing and his voice is low and dangerous. He drops his hand from Lisa's face. "When I get a hold of him -"

"Lenny's _alive,_ Mick."

He stops, Sam Scudder instantly forgotten. "What…?" He studies her. Her eyes wide and wild; body shaking as she stands. She looks crazed and unstable, especially with her battered face. "Lisa," he tries to sound calm. "No, kid. Remember? I told yah -"

Lisa shakes her head no. "I've _seen_ him." She insists.

Mick snaps his mouth shut and narrows his gaze. "What do you mean?"

She turns and walks farther into her apartment, going straight to the coffee table in the living room and picks up a remote control. The TV snaps on and Mick turns to his attention to it, brow knitted together in confusion.

The news report on Channel 52 is of a chain of heists spreading from National City, St. Roch, Star City, and most recently Central City. The woman holding the microphone stands in front of the cities largest and oldest standing bank, police cars blaring in the background.

"They're here. In our very own Central City, the _Legion of Doom_ , as the blogs are calling them, have struck again. While an astonishing 2.5 _billion_ dollars mysteriously vanished from heavily guarded and locked vaults deep within the banks tunnels…"

"It's on every channel," Lisa comments, staring at the screen. Her voice is monotone and sad at the same time. "They've stolen from every city they've hit. And _no one_ has any idea how to stop them." She looks over her shoulder at him. "Not even the Flash."

"...fifteen officers were injured during the fight…" The reporter continues relaying information of the robbery as footage from the bank's security cameras flashed over the TV screen. At first there's nothing unusual; just people standing in line for a teller, filling out deposit slips, sitting at desks while conducting loans and deals. Mick watches profoundly, searching for anything out of place.

Lisa then points to the screen. "There," she says softly.

The screen shows a tall, lanky looking man entering with greying hair and a familiar snarl. He strides confidently into the bank, a gun pointed steadily out. Goggles cover his eyes, black combat boots on his feet... a blue, fur-trimmed parka on his back.

He was shouting something. His personal lackeys filing in behind him and swarming the room with guns pointed at innocent people. It's not long before gunshots are firing and people are dropping to the ground.

It's _more_ than that, though. It's how the man stood: upright, proud, and powerful. How he somehow scowls _and_ smiles at the larceny he commands. The crease between his brow as he glares in anger. The hard set of his jawline. The sway of being overly confident and calculating.

Mick drops his mouth open and utters the only word that can come to mind.

" _Boss_."


	2. I Wear My Sunglasses At Night

**Hello and WOW thanks for a great response to the first chapter! You all are amazing and I appreciate the time you have taken to read/review/follow/favorite/etc. this story.**

 **Now, onward!**

* * *

 **I WEAR MY SUNGLASSES AT NIGHT**

 _MIDNIGHT - Central City_

 _January 18th, 2017_

"That was _weird,_ " Ray mutters next to Sara. Their eyes are on the door Mick had used to exit. "I wonder what's up."

Sara shrugs and takes up the half-finished beer their partner left behind. "Everyone's got secrets, Ray." She drinks. "Sometimes it's best not to ask what they are."

Ray whirls on her and even through his darkly tinted aviators, she can feel his pointed stare. Sara ignores it at first and looks everywhere but at him. The Atom, however, is persistent and does not budge. The weight of his gaze grows heavier with each silent moment that passes between them.

She rolls her eyes, annoyed. " _What_?"

"I think you _know_ what."

"We are _not_ going to talk about my _feelings_ , Ray."

"I really think we should," He frowns.

"Yeah?" Sara narrows her stare. "And I _really_ think you should back off."

"Not going to happen," Ray crosses his arms.

She scoffs. "When did you appoint yourself the team _therapist_ , by the way?"

He returns her glare and speaks firmly. " _Someone_ has to be. The team...we don't _talk_ to each other anymore. We're all going through this anguish, but not _together_. Not really. Everyone secludes themselves from each other. And it's like-"

"You said you _and_ the team felt Mick and I needed an intervention." Sara cuts him off.

"Okay, uhm, I, uh..." he shifts anxiously. "I lied. I haven't _actually_ discussed anything with the rest of them. I took it upon myself to try and speak with you guys."

"Ray…" Sara groans, covering her eyes and face in the palms of her hands.

"Someone had to!" His voice rises as he insists again. "And it's not like it's difficult to notice your change in behavior."

Sara shoots him another glare. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You _avoid_ us!" Ray practically shouts.

It makes her wince. _Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. A thousand times guilty._

She _was_ averting her crew intentionally. She _had_ to. If they saw how weak she really was or the stress that ate away at her; if they knew of the nightmares that gave her sleepless nights, they'd question her abilities. And she couldn't have them questioning her. Not when they were counting on her to lead them.

So she'd kept to herself mostly. When walking the halls of the Waverider she'd merely nod whenever a teammate strolled in her direction. Sometimes she would go as far as diving into the closest room, just to avoid the _possibility_ of having a conversation. She would practice for hours at a time in the cargo hold - trying to beat away the pain she bottled. Each punch she threw charged with anger and frustration. Every bruise she made a reminder of everything she had lost. She would retreat to the library or the office, hoping research would keep her somber thoughts at bay. Countless nights spent pouring over files and books and maps; mornings finding her sprawled over a desk she'd been using for her studying.

Nevertheless, deep into the night...when the Waverider was quiet and she was all alone in her room...a slow, teasing drawl haunting her dreams...

"And the drinking," Ray continues, pulling Sara from her thoughts. He gestures to the empty shot glasses and beer bottles. "Look at all this - what _is_ this?! I know you can handle yourself, Sara. But, come on. And _seriously_ , why do you shun us? We're your team! You can come and _talk_ to one of us. And what happened to those boxes with Sn-"

" _Goddamn it,_ Palmer!" Sara growls the words and slams her beer down onto the table. Her eyes are blue fire as she glowers at him. Ray means well, she knows. Still, she _cannot bare_ to have this conversation right now. "Leave it _alone._ "

"I can't leave it alone, Sara." He shakes his head. "I know you're hurt. I know because _I'm_ hurt. Everyone is."

"How many times do I have to tell you?!" _Great, be angry. Drive him away._

Ray sighs, "Look, I just _care_ , okay? _I_ was the one who was supposed to die at the Vanishing Point. _Me._ Not," he stops, giving her a nervous look. "...not..."

" _Don't_ , Ray. _Please_? I'm asking you nicely."

He frowns. "You've been snapping at me since I got here."

"Well, you keep pushin' shit!" She shoves him. "Now let me out!" She shoves him harder.

"Hey!" Ray whines. "Come on! This is _so_ not how a captain acts!"

Sara groans and gives him another shove, sending him sprawling out of their booth and onto the floor. The few people left in Foster's Bar glance in their direction, but no one makes a move to intervene. Hastily, Sara slides out of her corner and steps over him.

"It's how _this_ Captain acts!" She barks over her shoulder at him and heads to the bar counter.

"Sara, wait!" Ray scrambles to his feet and follows her. "You guys may not want to talk about it. But _I_ need to, okay? I _need_ to talk. Or else I'm going to snap."

She stops and turns to look at him. His face is coated with worry, his brown eyes revealing the most. _Helpless_ , she thinks. _He's completely helpless._

They both are, if she were to tell the truth. Though, Sara is able to keep her guilt to herself and her emotions relatively in check. Ray is not. His heart is _so_ soft. Possibly _too_ soft. And the remorse over Captain Cold's death eats him away.

 _It eats at_ _ **me**_ _too,_ Sara's thoughts ring selfishly. She clears her throat; tonight she was getting dangerously close to showing her weakness.

"I'm not much of a shrink, Ray." She tries to save herself one last time.

The Atom slumps his shoulders and dips his chin to look down at his feet.

 _The very picture of defeat,_ Sara feels a pang of guilt strike her heart. _Goddamn it._ She rolls her eyes at her melancholy teammate and nods her head towards the bar. "Come on."

Ray's expression - though marginally concealed by sunglasses and an absurd beard - visibly lights up. "Really? Like, _really_ really?"

Sara props herself up on a barstool and pats the seat next to her. " _Really_ , really. But this is about _you_. Okay?"

Smiling like a _complete_ doof, Ray nods and sits.

She leans back on her elbows against the bar and waits. _She_ certainly wasn't going to be the first to speak. And Ray had said that _he_ needed to talk. Sara had made it very clear that she did not. But she could listen, if that's what her teammate needed. When Ray tentatively looks at her she nods her head, "Go on."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in one big huff. "Well, I just-I've got a _lot_ on my mind."

"Oh God," Sara mutters. "I'm gonna need a drink for this." She signals the bartender for a beer, fully aware of Ray's disapproving demeanor. "I can hold my liquor. You don't need to give me that look." As if to prove her point, she takes a drink of her brew as soon as the bartender hands her the bottle.

"I know," Ray murmurs and looks down at his folded hands resting on the counter. "I just...I feel like it's _my_ fault that everyone is suffering...that you're suffering. And-and I mean, if I had died instead of..." he glances at her quickly. "...He Who Shall Not Be Named..."

"Oh my God," Sara groans and places a hand over her eyes. "You're kidding, right? You're going to compare him to _Voldemort_?"

"No!" Ray yelps. "No, not at all. I just-I just…"

"Ugh," Sara rolls her eyes and waves her hand, issuing him to drop it. "Just continue, Palmer. I don't want to be here all fucking night."

Ray takes in a deep breath of air and sighs it out before he begins. "I shouldn't be _alive_." His voice is _dripping_ with guilt. And Sara knows too well the feeling he is experiencing.

"I should have been the one standing there...with the Oculus, and…" He drops his gaze down for a beat before bringing it back to look directly at her. His words are thick with grief. "Snart shouldn't have died. It was my fate. Not his."

Sara looks away, feeling her throat tighten and anxiety rise. _Just wait. Just_ _ **wait**_ _. You can wait. You can wait. You_ _can wait._

Avoiding eye contact with Ray makes no difference, though. He reaches over and gently places his palm over her hand, squeezing her lightly.

"It's okay to admit you miss him," he whispers. "I won't tell."

She doesn't move away or rip her hand from his, like she normally would. She sits very still, hunched over her beer, staring down the long neck at the brown liquid inside. Eventually, Sara turns her face to look at him. He'd taken off his sunglasses and was giving her an earnest expression. He's full of hope, and it's easy to see.

She blinks, attempting to keep her rapidly forming tears in check. "I'm _fine._ "

Ray's eyes are pleading with her. "Sara…"

"I," She starts, ready to deflect. She purses her lips together in anger. What does he _want_ her to say? That she's _dying_ inside from the guilt of Laurel's death? No matter how hard she tries, she _cannot_ bring herself to face her parents again? That she feels so ferociously guilty that _she_ was given a second chance at life, but her sister wasn't?

Or did he want her to admit that she's utterly _exhausted_ from becoming a captain of a time traveling spaceship and crew? That she feels completely _ludicrous_ for even assuming she could lead the Legends as Rip had done?

That the _only_ person she felt even _remotely_ comfortable with on the Waverider had _sacrificed_ himself for _their_ lives? For _hers_?

She did her absolute best to ignore these deeply buried feelings. It was dangerous to mull over them. She couldn't let them out. They had to stay in check. _She_ had to stay in check. _I am Ta-er al-Usfar. And I am stronger than this._

Yet, as she tries to find an answer for him, her heart wrenches. Ray's eye are patient and kind. He's removed his hand and waits quietly, no longer trying to push her to speak. And surprisingly, all her carefully structured walls of resistance begin to fall away.

 _I_ _ **miss**_ _them._ _All of them._ The words are right on the tip of her tongue. She _could_ say it right here, right now, to Ray. She could let it out, let him listen to the rage and pain and _sadness_ that infected her soul. She could tell him how _badly_ she wants to see and hold and laugh with her sister again. Or how _desperately_ she wishes Rip were here, guiding her through the timeline and teaching her how to command a team of ragtag outlaws and heroes.

 _Or how I dream of Leonard every night..._

Tears prick at her eyes and she clears her throat before asking in a low voice, "How is it fair that I have died and _come back_...but they... _can't_?"

Ray's quiet and shakes his head. "It's not."

The tears she'd tried to keep distant were brimming her crystal blue eyes. If she blinked, they would fall. She bites her lip and casts her gaze downward. She doesn't speak and she isn't sure she _could_ speak again; she feels like she's choking.

Long moments pass between them as Sara avoids his stare. She orders another drink after finishing the first, and promptly chugs it down. She _can_ hold her liquor. And she really hasn't had _that_ much by her own standards. But whether caused by alcohol or her rapidly rising emotions, Sara's head is swirling and she feels the lump in her throat ache. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she swears if she doesn't get a damn _hold_ on herself, she's going to explode all over the bar.

 _Calm down,_ she tries to coach herself. _Everything is fine. Just-just get a grip._ She takes another drink.

"You know," Ray offers. "Sometimes, when I can't think straight or get the words out, I take a walk."

Sara glances at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He stands and places a few bills on the counter for their drinks. "Let's, uh," He shifts from foot to foot - almost like he's afraid she's about to reject him. "Let's get out of here. I've never seen Central City in the winter before. And it's late out, probably less of a chance of being seen."

Sara raises an eyebrow at him. "You want to take a midnight stroll?"

Ray shrugs, "Why not?"

He waits, eyeing her with an eagerness that somehow mixes with sorrow. Like this is his last ditch effort to console her. Rolling her eyes, Sara sighs. And slides off the bar stool.

* * *

Incidentally, Central City is quite beautiful during it's winter season. The air is still and chilly; the sky clear and peppered with stars. Frost clings to everything and icicles hang from streetlights and telephone wires. The city looks as if it's shut down entirely - no tire tracks on the streets, no footprints in the park or on the sidewalk. Just the frozen aftermath of a storm that had hit just a few days before.

White lights left from the holidays twinkle in the trees that line the sidewalks. A few buildings have decorations of the upcoming Valentine's day cluttering their doors and windows - while others still have HAPPY NEW YEARS plastered all over theirs. Citizens were advised to stay indoors until the city could provide the proper road safety and secure safe public transportation to travel by. And so businesses and restaurants were left unopened until further notice.

Snow crunches under their boots as Sara and Ray walk. Despite Ray's numerous attempts at conversation, Sara remains silent. She shivers as the cold reaches through her heavy down-jacket and chills her. She doesn't complain, though. She welcomes it - the icy feeling giving her comfort.

 _A city frozen under a blanket of white. Stunning, perfect...and raw._ Another chill goes through her and for once she feels peaceful. She smiles from behind the scarf she has wrapped around her neck and pulled up over her nose. Her hood covers her head and is pulled down over her brow - only her eyes can be seen and they _shine._

 _He would love this,_ her heartbeat picks up. _He would absolutely love the city like this._ Her smile spreads, though it remained concealed. _And I love it. It's...it's like he's...like he's..._

"Oh my God, this was a bad idea," Ray groans next to her. Sara blinks her lingering thoughts away and glances to her left, seeing Ray rub his hands together in an pursuit of warm. He looks miserable and lacking a pair of gloves.

"It's your own fault," Sara comments, her scarf slightly muffling her voice. "Gideon gave us the forecast before we landed."

"Yeah, yeah," Ray ignores her and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "How much longer do you want to walk for?"

Sara shrugs, "I could stay out in this all night." _I could stay for eternity and sleep in snow forever, just to feel a tiny bit of a connection to him again._ The snow will always be an amenity for her - a reminder of a man who had once favored and utilized the cold. To the others it may seem odd, but in this moment the snow keeps her tears away and to Sara that is enough.

 _I have the snow and ice and howling wind to keep me from losing my mind,_ her thoughts make her smile again... _to keep me from forgetting you._

To Ray's crestfallen face, she says "You don't have to stay with me, Ray. I'm a big girl, you know." She picks up her pace, leaving him a few steps behind her.

"Pretty sure I've seen you kick enough ass to already know that." He matches her speed and reaches out to grab her elbow. "Hey, come on." He stops her, making her turn to face him. "I'm not ditching you out here in this weather."

"It's _beautiful._ " She breathes. "Look at it; it's all untouched and sparkly."

"Yeeeaah," Ray draws the word out sarcastically, and eyes her with a raised brow. "And freezing. And we've been walking for an hour already. We're far from the Waverider and the temperature is dropping."

Sara rolls her eyes. "Oh please, we've survived _way_ worse than the snow of Central City. Quit worrying; it's peaceful out here, for once. We should enjoy it."

"The City is shut _down_ , Sara. We really shouldn't just be out walking around in this." He frowns at her and keeps his grip on her tight - even though they _both_ know Sara could easily escape it.

"We're _Legends_ , Ray." She doesn't bother hiding the annoyance in her voice. "I think we can both handle a little chilly weather."

"It's below freezing out here!"

"Yeah," Sara smiles again. "Doesn't it feel great?" _It feels like you're here…_

And it really _did_. It felt sharp and harsh, with a certain almost theatrical grace and poise about it. Dangerous and unsettling, yet somehow relaxing her to her core. It felt mean and brutal and _honest_. And yet...it was beautiful...and quiet...and calculating...

It felt like at any moment _he_ would round the corner and give her that lazy half-smile of his, drawl out her name and tell her she was foolish to think he was dead...

"Alright, look," Ray lets go of her. "Can we at least start heading back? It'll take at least an hour to get back to -"

"This was _your_ idea."

"Yeah, well," Ray crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I didn't think you'd want to spend _all night_ out here! That's insane, Sara!"

"It's not insane!"

"It _is_ insane!" Ray shouts back. "I can't feel my fucking feet, _Sara_! And my hands? There's probably so much damage to my nerves, I'll be lucky to ever use them again!"

"Ugh, fine!" She snaps and then scoffs at him. "You are _such_ a killjoy sometimes."

"Oh, _puh-leez,_ " Ray over exaggerates his words, only causing Sara roll her eyes in annoyance. "Because it's crazy that I want to get back to my warm bed and not spend all night in this freezing-ass blizzard?!"

"It's not even snowing right now!" Sara shouts back. She glares at him and pushes passed him in the direction they'd just come from. "And it's _your_ fault you didn't dress for this weather!"

Ray's long strides catch her quickly. "Oh, come on! I thought we'd go for a quick lap around the park and then head back to the ship. How was I supposed to know you were about to go all _Elsa_ on me?!"

She narrows her eyes in anger and makes no response.

They walk in silent company; Ray nervously glancing at Sara every second, and she purposely marching headstrong and ignoring him. The snow had been her one comfort that day. Her _one_ comfort in weeks. And Ray was taking it away from her - _after_ he'd spent all that time at the bar trying to coax her into talking about the feelings she very specifically wanted to escape from.

"You're a real shit head sometimes, you know that?" Sara growls over at him. "You poke your nose around in _everybody else's business_ , stir up trouble, and then act like a damn injured _puppy_ when no one wants your stupid input!"

Ray doesn't say anything, but she can hear his footsteps crunching next her.

"You just _had_ to try and be my shrink at that fucking bar -"

"Sara," He interjects, but she doesn't care and keeps walking.

"- and even after I practically _begged_ you to drop it, Ray -"

"Sara." His voice is full of alarm more than pleading, and he nudges her.

"- _You_ are welcomed to _leave_ at any time."

" _Sara_!" Ray hisses, eyes wide and frantic. He grabs her by the elbow and effectively halts her movements.

"What the fuck do you think -"

"Shut _up,"_ He nods his head towards the other side of the street.

She follows his gaze and squints at the city's park. "What? I don't see anything."

"Under the tree," Ray whispers. He's moved closer to her, one hand on the coat pocket he held his Atom suit in.

Sara looks, concentrating though she can't see anything. "It's too dark," She says back to Ray.

"No it's not, shut up." He shushes her back. "Just _look_ there's someone there."

And then, just barely, she can see a figure standing in the shadows. _A man_ , she deducts. Tall and lanky, and...confident. He sees them. He's watching them, waiting.

"Who are you?" She calls, deciding to take control of the situation. Ray stands solidly next to her, ready to defend if need be.

Nothing happens. The man in the shadows only continues to watch, though he slowly steps forward.

"Hey!" Sara shouts at him again. "Stop _right there_ or I'll cut your fucking eyeballs out."

He doesn't stop, and Ray adds, "Hey man, I would listen if I were you, she's in a _really_ shitty mood today."

Out from the darkness and into the light the mysterious intruder comes, hands raised in surrender. A smooth smile is spreading across his lips, a twinkle in his eye. "Now, guys, is that anyway to greet a friend?"

 **Hope you all enjoyed this chapter :) Please review if you have the time!**


	3. It Feels Like The Very First Time

**Ah! I still have some fans - woo! Thanks for sticking it out guys :) I appreciate it.**

 **IT FEELS LIKE THE VERY FIRST TIME**

 _1:36AM - Central City_

 _January 18th, 2017_

Lisa Snart is not a fragile woman. She does not simply bend or break. Nor is she easily swayed. Life has taught her that weakness is worthless.

Yet, as she and Mick stand in her living room, Lisa cannot stop _shaking_. Adrenaline pumps through her, making her skittish and alert. The bruise covering the right side of her face throbs painfully. A cut on her lip still stings from when Sam Scudder's fist had split it open a few hours earlier.

He'd found her walking home from a neighborhood bar. She was alone and without her Gold Gun - stupidly. After being jumped and shoved up against a wall she'd tried to fight back. Sam was bigger, though, and able to knock her on her ass easily enough.

"Lovely Lisa," he'd cooed down at her. "Take this as a warning. The Rogues have a new leader now and we have a score to settle with the Snart's. Best you run and tell your dearest brother."

He left her crumpled on the concrete, bloody and marred. She had to pick herself up and woozily stagger back to her apartment complex and up the stairs to her unit. It was a miracle that she hadn't passed out.

She can't help glancing over her shoulder to the door every other minute. And she can't shake the restless nagging at the back of her mind. _Everything's fine._ The lie doesn't help; she shudders. _Get it together._

She looks at Mick, who frowns at the television. His eyes blaze. A reporter relays information regarding the latest bank heists involving the Legion of Doom.

And her brother. Her brother who is suddenly (miraculously?) alive. Alive and neglecting her.

 _Lenny, how could you?_ Her breathing quickens. Lisa shivers and looks over her shoulder again.

"No one's gonna touch yah while I'm here," Mick rumbles. He still doesn't look at her.

She lets out an unsteady sigh and nods. "Thanks. I'm alright."

"Doesn't look like it."

Lisa drops her eyes. "Scudder got me pretty good, huh?"

"Scudder's fucking _dead,_ " Mick insists. His eyes flame at the statement and the frown on his face hardens. "The second I see him, I'm gonna kill the bastard."

She knows he'll do it. Mick never backs down. His temper and brutality will ensure it. Scudder might as well pick out a coffin. Or rather an urn, provided that Mick will surely roast him to ashes.

The news continues. "...and if anyone has _any_ information, _anything_ at all , please call the police…" Lenny's picture flashes on the screen.

"How long?" Mick grunts.

Lisa shakes her head. Tears prick her eyes, threatening to spill. "I don't know. A while." She sighs and rubs her hands over her arms.

"A while." He repeats, as if the words are foreign to him. Finally, he looks over at her and notices her uncontrollable shaking. "What's the matter?"

It's all she can handle. Strong as she is, Lisa Snart is broken. She bites her bottom lip in an attempt to keep calm. It's completely useless and she only feels anxiety rush through her. She blinks and meets Mick's curious gaze.

"I, uh," she gulps. ""I-I think I'm having a panic attack."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Panic? Over what?" He looks around the living room.

"I-I…" She sways on her feet, feeling nauseous. _Over everything._

Quickly, Mick is in front of her, the fire in his eyes coated with concern. "Calm down."

But she _can't_. Her vision blurs and she chokes on air - because apparently her fucking _lungs_ don't work anymore.

"Hey," Mick grabs her shoulders and holds her firmly. "Ease up, kid. Take a breath."

 _I'm trying!_ Lisa wants to scream. A tingly, pricking sensation agitates her body, making her jerk and pant in alarm. Dizziness overwhelms her as a white noise fills her ears. Her knees wobble and start to give out.

"Shit!" Mick grunts. Without hesitation, he bends down and scoops her up in his arms. He carries her to the couch and softly sits her down before retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen. He places it on the coffee table and kneels down in front of her. "Look at me."

Her breath remains ragged and she's suddenly aware that tears streak down her cheeks. She can't collect her bearings - not while her body rattles and sways while the world around her seemingly spins.

"Lisa, look at me. Now."

She snaps her eyes open. And is met with a pair written with concern. "Breathe." Mick keeps his voice low, soft. He reaches for the water he'd set down and holds it out for her. "Drink."

She takes it, swallows too much too fast, and practically chokes in a fit of coughs. Mick grabs the glass from her shaking hands. "What'd yah think was gonna happen?" He frowns at her. "Slow down. _Breathe._ "

She glimpses at the front door again, fearing danger waits on the other side. _Scudder saw me crawling back home,_ she's convinced.

Mick places his hands on her knees to bring her attention back to him. "Lisa," he says gruffly. "Stop lookin' at the door, kid. Look at _me_."

Embarrassed, Lisa casts her eyes down. "I-I'm sorry. I'm a-a wreck right now." She sniffles and wipes a few tears away.

He shakes his head. "Just calm down, alright?" When she trembles again, he squeezes her knees to keep them from shaking. "You're okay now. I'm here. _No one_ is gettin' through that door."

"How long are you here for?" She knows she sounds pathetic. But she can't be alone tonight, not with her rising hysteria and Sam Scudder gunning for her. Not with Lenny suddenly resurrected and seemingly omitting her.

"I got 'til the end of the month, unless something comes up and I get the call." He sounds apologetic, like he knows he should stay.

Lisa nods and averts her eyes again. She couldn't ask him to halt his life for her, he had...obligations. And she _is_ a grown woman. She shouldn't lean on Mick so much. _It's not his job to babysit me._ She shivers again.

Mick grabs the nearest blanket and wraps it around Lisa's shoulders. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

She wipes away more tears, the question reminding her of Lenny. She'd always told him everything. He'd known every detail of what went on in her life. _Now, however..._

Shrugging, Lisa can't meet Mick's waiting stare. "I got jumped. What's there to tell?"

"Where'd he get yah?" He doesn't let it go. "When did it happen?"

"A couple hours ago; block or two down the street," She answers faintly. She waits for a sharp comment from him, like he usually gives whenever she fucks up. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Never be off your guard._

Mick looks furious but he keeps his voice controlled as he speaks. "What'd he tell you?"

Lisa winces, "That the Rogues have a new leader. And they're comin' for me and Lenny."

Mick shakes his head, his fists clenching and that familiar blaze of anger threatening to resurface. "They ain't gonna touch you. They do and they'll _burn_."

"It's alright," she tries. "It's -"

"It's _not_ alright," he rumbles. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep himself in check. "I'm gonna handle Scudder and his gang. You don't need to think about them anymore."

Lisa offers him a small smile and whispers "Thank you". She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and leans into the couch, resting her head back. "Will you stay tonight?"

He nods and rises from the floor to take a seat next to her. "Think I should." He looks her over with his brow creased. "How yah doing?"

A shiver racks through her. "I don't know. I think I'll be okay. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologise'," he waves it off. "Focus on calmin' yourself."

Lisa lets out an uneasy breath. Her head feels heavy and chaotic with anxiety. And that prickling feeling still plagues her. "I'm dizzy as fuck," she admits.

"Lie back," Mick instructs. "You gotta feel grounded."

She obeys and tilts her body down. She closes her eyes, inhales deeply, tries to relax. _Breathe._

Mick grabs her bare feet and places them in his lap, giving her room to stretch her legs, rather than scrunch up on one side of the couch. He holds his hands over them, offering something solid and stable for her to focus on. She takes comfort in it and lets herself sink into the cushions of the couch.

"Thank you," she says again. _For coming back_.

Mick squeezes her feet in response. "Feel better?"

"Mhm," Lisa answers, nerves declining and a sense of security surrounding her.

"And if it gets worse?"

Her lips twitch into a smile, "I'll let you know. I promise."

Mick grunts his approval and settles against the couch. They fall silent; nothing but the television filling the room with sound.

Over time Lisa calms and is able to control her shaking. She lays contently, barely able to pay attention to whatever late night show now played on her TV. Mick hasn't moved and keeps her toes covered and warm beneath his large hands. She wiggles them slightly and he squeezes back. _He's here now. It'll all be okay._

It's not long before sleep finds her.

* * *

 _The moment Lenny stepped out of the unfamiliar car, she sprinted into her brother's embrace. He chuckled and staggered from her momentum. "You're so tall now," he croaked out._

" _I missed you," She muttered into his chest. He held her tight and kissed the top of her head._

" _Missed you too, kid."_

 _She smiled and looked up at him, cherishing the familiar sharp blue eyes and loving smile she'd missed for two years. "Are you okay? How was it? I'm so sorry you didn't get any of my letters -"_

 _He squeezed her tighter and cut her off. "I'm fine, Lisa. It was fine. You don't need to hear about it, alright? Are you okay, though? Anything I should know about?"_

 _She bit her lip. She wasn't okay. And she should tell him. She told him everything. "Dad kicked me out. I'm not supposed to be here right now."_

" _He kicked you out?" Lenny growled. "You're eight years old!" He tried to pull away from her, but she held him tighter._

" _It was my fault. Probably." She shut her eyes. She could feel the tension in his body, the anger. "I don't know. He was drunk again and I asked him for grocery money. He told me to fuck off and get out. That was last night."_

" _Jesus, Lisa." Her brother rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her. "I'm so sorry. I was still in a cell last night. Didn't get released until early this morning. If I could've gotten out -"_

" _It's okay," she stopped him. "I hid in the alley until he passed out. Then I sneaked back in and went to bed. He left this morning and didn't even know I was there."_

 _Lenny shook his head. "You should have gone to the neighbor's house."_

" _I'm there too much as it is." Her voice was soft, embarrassed. "Please, Lenny. You just got back. Don't let dad spoil it."_

" _We'll figure this out," he said firmly. "I'll get a place somewhere he can't find us, okay?"_

 _She smiled, about to answer in agreement when a low, rumbling voice interrupted their private moment. "I got a place you can stay."_

 _Lenny pulled away from her, turning towards the voice. Lisa whipped her head to the right and for the first time took notice of a young man standing a few feet away from them. His eyes jumped from Lenny to her. He frowned deeply, brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't seem much older than her brother, but he certainly looked burlier. And meaner. He looked much, much meaner than Lenny._

 _Her brother shook his head, "We'll be alright. I know a couple -"_

" _You're too scrawny to be out on the streets alone. And that fuckin' cocky mouth you got will get your head knocked off."_

" _Who is that?" Lisa whispered, grabbing a fistful of her brother's t-shirt. She leaned into him, shying from the stranger who stared at her._

 _Lenny's blue eyes narrowed and he was quiet as he regarded the other teenager. "His name's Mick." He wrapped an arm around Lisa's shoulders and squeezed them soothingly. "He's a...friend. And...we're going with him for a few days, alright? Say hi."_

 _Lisa flushed red and cast her eyes down to her feet, shuffling them awkwardly on the sidewalk. "H-hi Mick," she murmured, shyly._

 _Silence followed and hung between the three of them, with Mick's eyes blazing while he looked her over. Lisa snuck a glance up at her brother's "friend" and met his unblinking gaze._

 _His frown became an amused smirk and his voice rumbled a low, "Hi."_

 _Lenny squeezed her shoulder, calming her nerves. "Go get whatever you need out of the house."_

 _She blinked and looked to him. "I don't have any stuff."_

" _What about clothes?"_

 _Lisa held out her arms, looked down at her attire, and shrugged. "This is it."_

 _He pursed his lips together in anger and pulled her into another tight hug. "I'll get you new stuff, okay? And a whole shit ton of clothes. Whatever you want." He kissed the top of her head again. "Just give me some time to get some money first. Might take a while, honestly. But I promise, Lisa, I'm gonna take care of you until the day I die."_

 _He led her to the car he'd arrived in and shut the door behind her before taking his own seat in the front. They locked eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. Neither spoke, but shared a nod of agreement - this was the best option for both of them. Mick came around to the front and took the driver's seat, quietly twisting the key in the ignition and starting the vehicle._

 _They pulled away. And did not look back._

* * *

When Lisa wakes it's with a jolt. She sits up, dazed and frantic at once; wildly twisting her head to survey her surroundings. Rays of sunshine pouring in through her window reveal that it's daytime, probably morning. The television is still on, another round of the daily news streaming across the screen. Lisa barely hears it, though the video footage is (again) of the Legion of Doom. Apparently Central City feels quite threatened.

She's alone, the other end of her couch now unoccupied.

"Mick?" Lisa calls tentatively. Silence answers her. She frowns. _He left?_ She shouldn't be so surprised. It's not like he's never sporadically taken off before.

Then, from down the hall, the toilet flushes and a faucet runs.

The sounds calm her, as embarrassing as it is. When Mick comes down the hallway and into the living room, he stops near the couch and looks down at her. She gives him a small smile. "Hi."

He says nothing.

"I'm fine, Mick."

He narrows his gaze, like he's waiting for her to have another break down.

" _Really_ ," Lisa asserts. "I'm okay now. And you know," she shrugs, "thanks for everything."

He grunts in reply, his stare disbelieving and harsh. He frowns at her, though Lisa can't determine why. Last night he'd been collected, a stability in her time of vulnerability. Here and now she sees a fire blazing within him.

"You're goin' to the Waverider."

 _Well, then._ She blinks. "What about my brother?"

Mick lets out a heavy sigh."I don't know," his voice is low and throaty. "Lemme handle Scudder first."

"I could go see Lenny," Lisa offers. Her brother may be completely ignoring her, but she could trail him and possibly speak with him. Warn him about the Rogues. He'll listen to her, he _has_ to.

"You can't see him." The words are firm and Mick does not look at her as he speaks. Anger practically radiates from him. His fists are clenched tightly, knuckles white. His brow is furrowed; mouth set in a deep scowl.

Lisa arches an eyebrow. "Is that what we're going to do? Fight?"

"You can't go see him, Lisa." He repeats.

She smirks. "Guess we're fighting."

Mick ignores the comment and switches his heated stare pointedly at her. "Don't go lookin' for him; don't get involved _at all_. I will take care of this. Understand?"

" _Excuse_ _me_?" Her temper rises and she jumps from her seat and rounds the couch to confront him. This was _her_ brother he was speaking of! He will not talk _down_ to her about her own flesh and blood. "Since when do _you_ -"

"You are _not_ getting involved!" He leaves no room for bargain.

"You, of all people, can _not_ tell me what to do!"

"I can when it comes to your safety!" Mick bellows, stepping towards her. All the control he'd held the night before has vanished. He flares with ferocity, looking wild and unpredictable. With only a few strides he closes the space between them.

She stands soundly, unwilling to cower. This is not the first time he has charged at her. And Lisa reasons that it will not be the last.

But, just as Mick is about to reach her, he abruptly stops himself short. His chest heaves. His fists clench. He takes in a deep breath, let's it out. Finally, in a strained voice he pleads, "Listen to me, kid. Your brother died."

"You just _saw_ him on the -"

" _No,_ Lisa." He growls at her, a flash of that familiar mania resurfacing. "Your brother _died._ And I know that's fucked up for you. But, you cannot go _anywhere_ near this other guy. That ain't your brother."

"It's _him,_ Mick." Lisa insists, shaking her head and refusing to listen to him. He doesn't understand. He _can't_. Lenny was _her_ brother. They had a connection - _have_ a connection.

Mick runs a rough hand over his face and glares at her stubbornly. "Lisa, if that were your brother, why the fuck hasn't he come to see you? Why's he off with the fucking _Legion of Doom_ , instead of coming _here_ and checking on _you_?"

She starts as if to answer. But finds she cannot. _Lenny would have come immediately._ She snaps her mouth shut and averts her eyes.

"Snart loved you more than anyone on this fucking planet," Mick frowns. "And he wouldn't want you gettin' into something that could get yah hurt or fuckin' killed. And that -" he points to the surveillance footage Channel 52 replayed. "- _will_ get you killed."

Lisa rolls her eyes. "You act like I can't take care of myself."

"You can't!" He throws his arms out, gesturing as if the statement is obvious .

It only enrages Lisa. "Fuck you! I broke you out of _prison_ two years ago!"

Mick smirks. "Want an award? You pulled a few goods jobs under Snart's orders. That was one of 'em."

She scoffs and folds her arms. "I've done _plenty_ on my own."

"You ain't a match for the Legion of Doom." His voice is deep, serious. "They got a Speedster." He crosses his muscled arms over his chest. "Might be faster than the Flash and he's twisted, _evil._ What happens when he gets a hold of yah?"

"I'd be fine," she deflects. "I know how to -"

"You'd be fucked." He shakes his head and talks over her. "Actin' tough ain't gonna be enough, kid."

"I'm more than enough." She believes it. Lenny taught her well.

"Tell that to Scudder," Mick jabs.

It hurts, of course. And she knows he's right; she got her ass handed to her - but worse than that, Scudder got inside her head. She tries to ignore the sting and glares. "Thanks, prick. But Scudder got lucky. I wasn't watching. I could've -"

" _Godfuckingdamnit, Lisa_!" Mick roars, whirling around and walking away from her, blazing with madness. When he looks to her again, he's reddening and furious. "I'll knock your ass out and drag you to the Waverider _right fucking now_ if you don't shut up and _listen to me_!"

Without thought she's across the living room and in Mick's face, screaming, "Do it! You fucking bastard!" She shoves him, pissed that he could come to _her_ home and make _commands_ of her.

"You boarded that fucking ship with him!" She feels a burst of emotion rush through her, everything she'd felt since the moment Lenny and Mick had rocketed out of her life. She blinks away tears that prick her eyes. "You went _with_ him on that stupid fucking thing!"

"Yeah," he nods, jaw set and scowl deep. His eyes flame with danger. But, to his credit, he does not raise a hand to her. "I did. And the whole damn time I said it was bad idea."

"But you still _went_!" Lisa wails. "You _both_ left." She shoves him again. He hardly stumbles, his size being massive compared to hers, and absorbs the impact. She's fuming and careless; her split lip stings with each word she throws at him.

Still, she cannot stop. "You left _me_ behind, you ass hole! You _left_! You choose your stupid fucking _team_ \- people you barely even know - over _me_! You don't get to come in and out of my life _now_ and tell me what to do! You chose _them_!"

She throws a fist to his jaw. She knows he's quick enough, and strong enough, to catch her punch in his grasp. But he lets it connect to his face and his head snaps to the side.

"You fucking chose _them_!" Lisa screams again, her voice growing hoarse and tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Mick says nothing as he looks up at her, his expression a mystery. He's always tense and ferocious. But right now he looks at her with something behind the fire that burns. It does nothing to settle her nerves. _Never trust a person you can't read._ And still, he does not touch her. He runs a hand over his lips to wipe away blood.

Lisa glares at him and tries to even her breathing. He stares back. Neither move.

And that is when her front door is kicked in.

 **Thanks again! Review if you can :)**


	4. In The Still Of The Night

**IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT**

 _2:42 AM - Central City_

 _January 18th, 2017_

"And Sara, honey, watch the _language_ , please. No father wants to hear his baby girl droppin' F-bombs." From the shadows and into the bright light of a street lamp came Quentin Lance, dressed head to toe in snow gear, with his best accessory being the smile he wears from ear to ear.

" _Dad_?!" Sara gawks at him and drops her arms to her side. Guilt strikes her and she can't believe she's in the _exact_ situation she'd been wanting to avoid since landing the Waverider. The only thing that could make this any worse would be if her mother just _happened_ to stumble out from seemingly nowhere as well and join them.

More or less, Quentin looks the same since the last time she'd come to visit. A few more stress lines here and there, but that's to be expected, as is the greying of his hair. Though the proof of his aging makes her heartbeat quicken and her gut feel as if it's about to drop straight out of her ass. _The universe hates me,_ her thoughts growl.

"Captain Lance!" Ray cheers, pocketting his Atom suit. "Or, wait, that's not correct anymore, is it?"

Sara rolls her eyes and ignores her teammate. "How'd you find us? And why aren't you in Star City?"

"You don't think I forgot what my baby girl looks like, do yah? I spotted yah when I was cutting through the park." Quentin flashes her a smile. "And that voice of yours, honey, I know it better than my own."

Beside her, Ray lets out an "awww", and Sara has to resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs. She averts her eyes and scans their surroundings, avoiding her father's gaze. Looking at him is brutal, especially while he stares at her with a loving smile and a shine of tears in his eyes.

"I came out here to help Joe West and Captain Singh with the L.O.D. case," Quentin continues. "Central City's the latest victim. Oliver contacted Mayor Bellows and offered help. Bellows ain't an idiot and so here I am, trying to find a link to the two biggest heists either cities have ever seen." He shrugs.

"L.O.D.?" Ray asks. "What's that stand for?"

"You're never gonna believe it," Quintin rolls his eyes. "Stands for the _Legion of Doom_. Blame the bloggers. They had a hayday with the whole thing. Got people scared stiff, and with the snow here and all most are stuck in their houses until the sun decides to show up and melt this shit."

Sara frowns, liking the snowy city. "Why are you out here in the middle of the night?"

Quentin raises an eyebrow at her. "I could ask _you_ the same. The trains are finally operating again and running all night to make up for being shut down over the week, thought I'd catch one headin' back home. You, uh," he shuffles slightly on his feet. "You wanna come with? Been awhile since you been back. The others - Oliver, Thea - they'd sure like to see yah, kiddo."

"Dad," She sighs. "I-"

"Can't." The smile he wears is heartbreaking and Sara has to look away.

"Right."

"Because of your mission throughout time."

 _We have the same eyes_ , Sara realizes. Though hers are blue and her father's a toasty shade of brown, both are haunted by sorrow and guilt. _And he sees it too._ She winces. "Yeah."

Quentin rocks on his heels and nods, the lump in his throat bobbing as he swallows the words he wants to say. "Gotcha." He purses his lips and Sara wants to die. "Well, can yah spare a few minutes to walk your old man to the train station?"

 __"Sure, dad." She manages a smile.

The train station is only a few minutes out of their way, and thus the trio comes upon it quicker than expected, though not without the difficulty of icy roads and powdery snow. The ticket agent clears Quentin's online purchase from his cell phone app and hands him a voucher and seat number.

"Dad, I…" she turns to face him as they wait near the tracks. "I don't _like_ leaving you. I want you to know that."

"I know, baby." His eyes shine with the tears that always show whenever they must say goodbye. "I'm just glad to see yah. You're all I got."

"That's not true!" Her voice cracks and composure slips and all Sara wants to do is throw her arms around her father's neck and promise him she'll come back home because it's all just _too much_.

Instead she stands still and makes no promises that she cannot keep. "You have Ollie and the others. They love you, dad. And they need you just like I do."

Quentin looks away. "You don't need me. You're off flyin' across time, fightin' throughout history, doin' stuff that _matters_. You're all grown up now, Sara. You don't need your ol' man anymore."

Her heart shatters and her eyes fill with tears. "I will always need you. _Always_. No matter how old I get or how far away I go. You never gave up on me, _ever._ Even after I came back from the dead and -"

"Don't even say it," He grumbles. "I ain't goin' to talk about that with yah. It wasn't _you_ then."

She obeys and snaps her mouth shut. _He has enough stress as it is,_ she lowers her eyes and kicks at the snow with the toe of her Doc Martens. "Still."

Her father sighs and Sara shivers. The feeling is familiar and again she allows the guilt she's gathered over the years to weigh upon her heart. Quentin has always been a fantastic father to her and Laurel, surely overprotective and at times a bit conservative. But he loved his children deeply and no one could ever fault him for that.

It makes everything _so_ much worse. If only he faulted her, as she deserves. She had failed him. And her mother. And _Laurel._ Yet, here he is, smiling warmly and loving her despite everything she'd put their family through. Despite being too far away to save her sister's life.

Luckily, a train whistles in the distance, signaling its arrival is soon to come, and pops the straining bubble of awkwardness surrounding Sara, her father, and - God help her - Ray Palmer.

" _So_ ," Ray speaks up. "Hey, how much was stolen anyway?"

"Billions." Quentin frowns. "Nearly everything the bank had, and no trace of the assholes who'd done it," He shakes his head. "As far as anyone can tell - and that includes our friends at S.T.A.R. Labs - the Legion of Doom have split town. We got some footage rom the bank's surveillance cameras. Lemme tell yah, the guy they got on video is _not_ acting within his typical pattern. Talked with Barry Allen and Cisco just this morning and they agree, Snart don't operate so blatantly."

" _Snart?!"_ Sara and Ray yelp.

Her heart thumps, thumps, thumps. _No, Snart is dead._ It quickens; thump thump, thumps, thumps. _He died. I_ _ **saw**_ _him die._ But she hadn't, had she? She definitely saw the Vanishing Point destroyed in an explosion of blue energy. Was there a chance he had survived?

"Wait," Ray snaps her back. "You mean Lisa, right? Snart's younger sister."

Quentin shakes his head. "Nah, definitely Leonard Snart's face. Thought he was off with you all, but then -"

"Snart died," she interrupts, all beating heart and shaking knees.

Quentin frowns, "He didn't look dead on the bank's surveillance footage. And look honey," he reaches out and gently places a hand on her shoulder. It's meant to be comforting, but Sara doesn't want pity. _Leonard wouldn't either._ Quentin gives her shoulder a squeeze. "I know you were on a team with him, but I read the guy's file, he has an incredible mind and has broken out of every prison he's been thrown in. Singh's had him placed on the city's Most Wanted list for years. He runs a _mob_ , Sara - no, don't give me that look. I _know_ you worked together, baby, but a guy like that don't change easily. I mean, chances are he faked his death and -"

"Leonard didn't _fake_ his death." She wants to step back at the insult, out of his reach.

Ray nods beside her. "It's true. He died saving the entire team - and _all of time_ , for that matter."

A loud _screeeeeeeeeeeech_ cuts through their conversation as the train finally makes its arrival to Central City. At a full stop, the doors slide open and a small shuffle of late night riders step into the frigid chill.

The Conductor wastes no time and quickly readies his train for the next round. "Board in ten!"

"Look," Quentin drops his volume. "Go to S.T.A.R. Labs and have Ramon show yah the tapes. Cold is on 'em, plain as day." His eyes flit between Ray and Sara, urging them to heed his word. "Ramon's got it all; get over there as soon as yah can, yah hear me? Maybe the Legends can make sense of all this."

Ray nods, "Absolutely. We'll go first thing tomorrow." He sticks his hand out for a farewell handshake. "And thanks, we owe you for the tip."

Returning the gesture, Quentin clasps Ray's hand and dips his chin once. "You can pay me back by keepin' my little girl alive while you're on that timeship of yours."

Ray flashes a smile. "Yes sir."

Her father turns to her, his expression suddenly changing when their eyes meet. Sara offers him a small smile. "This isn't the last goodbye, dad."

His eyes immediately shine with tears and he wipes at them. "C'mere," his voice croaks and Sara steps into his embrace, squeezing tightly and burying her face in his chest.

"I love you, daddy." _And I'm sorry._

He kisses her forehead. "Love yah too, baby." He hugs her tighter to him and lets out a shaky sigh before releasing her and stepping back. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles awkwardly on his feet. "Honey, I -"

"All aboard!" The conductor yells. The few passengers waiting shuffle onto the train quickly.

"I better get outta here," Quentin gives the pair one more smile. "Take care of each other."

"Always," they respond in unicent, pulling a chuckle from Quentin before he turns to leave.

* * *

The walk is silent and strained. Though another overbearing feeling of unease overcomes Sara and she can't place the _why_ of it. She's always hated leaving her dad behind - it's unfair. He's a good man, who fights bravely against powerhouses bigger than himself. He's capable of caring for himself. And if not, Oliver is there to watch out and protect him. She shouldn't worry, she has no reason to worry. And yet...

"Is-is the temperature dropping?" Ray's teeth chatter as he speaks.

"Feels like it," her answer is monotone, careless. They'd picked up their pace to make up for the loss time and to get Ray back to the warmth of the Waverider as quickly as possible. Clearly it wasn't fast enough, and again Sara reflects that it's _his_ fault that he did not dress properly.

She frowns from behind her scarf and promptly yanks off her gloves. "Here," she holds the pair out for Ray. "Take them before your hands freeze off," she insists. When he does he mutters his thanks and they return to their wordless marching.

And then, "W-what if we stopped at a hotel for the night?"

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He whines in response. "Hey, c-come on! I'm losing feeling over here."

She lets out a sigh and scans their surroundings. "I don't see a-"

A shrieking wind whips around them, cutting off her words and bringing flurries of snow. Ray lets out a yelp of shock and Sara nearly stumbles against the sudden push.

"Shit!" She curses and flings her arms out for balance. The wind doesn't stop, with its scream piercing her ears and its force keeping her slim frame from holding stable in one spot. Her footing is lost easily and she almost tumbles to the ground below her more than once.

"Are you okay?" Ray shouts, somewhere near her.

The wind blows too harshly for Sara to open her eyes and she growls an angry "Fine!" back at him. The screaming doesn't stop and she swears she's _never_ heard a wind like this before. "God damn it, what is this shit?!" She tries to push back, tries to keep her bearings, but it's nearly impossible with the elements working against her. "You alright, Palmer?"

There's no response.

"Ray?" She shouts, chancing her eyes open to search for him.

He's nowhere to be seen and Sara starts to panic. There's only thick snow that falls all around her in fat lumps, covering everything in sight - not that there _is_ anything in sight. Literally _all_ she can see is the endless white.

" _Ray!_ " She screams against the wind, though the sound is drowned out easily. "Ray, damn it! Where are you?"

Again, the wind pushes hard against her, nearly bringing her the powdery ground. She digs her heels, trying to find a footing that works for her against this hell.

It doesn't work. And the icy concrete sidewalk is her undoing as she falls, smacking her head in the process.

Everything goes black.

* * *

She doesn't know how long she lays on the frozen ground. She's too cold and numb to care. Whether hours or mere minutes have passed, she lies on her side with her knees drawn into her chest and her face buried as far as she can get to absorb her own fading heat. She should have died by now. It was cruel that she had to wait out the inevitability.

Under Ra's she'd been tried conditioned against countless ways of torture and pain. The Demon believed in being above weakness, in being thorough.

But this...this she almost welcomed. Her spirit had been dampered since the night of the Oculus, since the death of her sister, since she'd realized she was a shit captain and even worse daughter. She struggled daily with herself, coating her attitude with anger to mask her self pity. The others didn't deserve that bullshit. And she didn't deserve them or their kindness. She didn't deserve those that cared.

She didn't deserve Laurel. Or Leonard. And now she was ready to keel over and die.

But it was taking too damn long.

 _Lance._

She groans. Her head hurts, aches really. Right on the temple.

 _Get up._

She snaps her eyes open. She knows that voice. Could it be? She shakes her head. _No. Leonard is dead_. He's _been_ dead for nearly a full year. The dead don't talk. She would know.

 _Get up, Lance._ Clearer, demanding, _pissed_.

 _Leonard,_ that voice. _His_ voice. She blinks her eyes open, meeting infinite black. _I'm losing my fucking mind._

 _Sara, you have to get up._

"L-Len?" she whispers, lips cracking.

Was she dying? Was Leonard the one to meet her on the other side? Why not Laurel? Was her sister coming to?

Or…

 _Sara, get your ass up_ _ **now**_ _!_

She slowly turns her head. It hurts, but she obeys and ignores the pain to bring herself to a sitting position. Her bones crack and her muscles scream in protest. Everything is numb and stinging at the same time.

She's so _cold_. Why was it so damn cold? It wasn't like this in the park, was it?

Her eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding her. The building is a large, empty space, likely an unused warehouse. Though her exact coordinates are a mystery at the moment. _Everything_ is coated in ice, including the cage barely big enough to fit her. Everything but Sara, though that's sure to change soon.

A pair of hollow eyes stare at her from the other side of the bars.

Her breath hitches and her stomach lurches. "Holy shit." She squints, trying to properly see who her jailer is. And then, he leans forward, giving her a better view of the face she'd dreamt of nearly every night for _months._

"S-Snart?" Her voice is thick with confusion - disbelief almost. But his salt and pepper hair, his blue parka, his long legs and square shoulders convince her enough to make her heart pound in her chest, her blood pump faster, her head swirl.

"It's me, it's Sara." Her voice hitches, emotions rising and she doesn't bother pushing them away. Tears freeze on her lashes. "I-I thought you died. We _all_ thought you died."

His frown deepens. There's no recognition of her or his own name in his steel blue eyes. Only coldness, hate, a bleakness she cannot understand.

"L-Leonard." she refuses to look away or cower under his stare. His silence is relentless and cruel. And he's never looked at her this way before, with such venom. But he either doesn't remember or he doesn't care. He _hates_ her, she can see it, can feel it in the cold surrounding them.

She notices he doesn't shiver like she does. The freeze doesn't phase him like it does her. She tries to control her body, but fails as another shake racks through her.

He continues to stare at her, still as stone. He sits before her cage, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His brow is furrowed and she can see the clench of his jaw.

Sara's mind races and her body won't stop shaking from the frigid chill. She sniffles and it hurts, making her wince.

"Snart, _please_ ," her voice cracks, sounding hoarse and raw as she practically begs. "This isn't _you._ "

He says nothing, the temperature around them dropping.

"Y-y-you know wh-who I am!" Her teeth chatter as she speaks, her resilience chipping away as the biting cold snaps at her. "Y-you wouldn't keep me in a cage! We-we-we-agh!" She buckles and folds in on herself, trying to keep as much body warmth as she had left. Her trembling increases rapidly, her limbs painful and ice crusting in her hair, on her lashes, the tip of her nose. She fights to focus, to break him of this - whatever it was.

But still he sits, and still he stares.

 _Don't quit on me, Lance. Don't you dare quit._

How? How was it possible? How could she _hear_ him in her own mind and see him sitting before her, clearly not making a sound? Clearly despising her? Her heart thumps in her chest and her mind swirls with confusion and sadness and fear. Her freezing, throbbing, numb body wants nothing more than to curl up and let herself die, let herself give in. She'd gone so long without him, cried and fought herself over the loss of him; how could _this_ be the way they reunite?

"L-Leonard," she says softly. Their eyes lock, blue finding blue amongst the dark. "Your name is Leonard. And-and," her teeth chatter so hard she thinks they'll break. Despite it all, Sara gathers her strength and pushes herself upright again. "And you're a Legend."

He raises a single brow.


	5. I Can Taste You On My Lips

**A/N: Thank you for your patience. Just a heads up here, I dislike Amaya. She is my** _ **least**_ **favorite of all the Legends and I especially tire of her on the show. Here I'm trying to write here in a more pleasing nature, or at least, a less insufferable one. If you don't agree with my take and what I've done with her, that's fine. But I only ask that constructive criticism is all you leave in your comments.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **I CAN TASTE YOU ON MY LIPS AND SMELL YOU IN MY CLOTHES**

 _4:00 AM - Central City; The Waverider_

 _January 18th, 2017_

"Check again."

"Miss Jiwe, there have been no changes to the present timeline since our arrival in 2017."

"Again, please Gideon."

A moment passes and then, "There have been no changes to the timeline."

Sighing, Amaya runs a delicate hand over her face and then pinches the bridge of her nose as a headache surfaces. _Pointless,_ she thinks moodily. _I'm making absolutely no headway._

Unable to sleep, she's been standing in the library for hours, eyes fixed on the small monitors mounted into the interior walls of the Waverider. Earlier Captain Lance released the team to their private vacations, calling it _much needed_. Disapproving, Amaya refused to place her mission on hiatus and enjoy the recess.

 _It's selfish_ , her thoughts growl. _To take time for leisure while a murderer runs freely._

"Gideon, check again. Please."

A pause. "There have been no changes made to the current timeline."

"Have _any_ changes been made to _any_ timeline?"

"Would you like me to expand the search perimeter to alternative timelines, Miss Jiwe?"

Amaya frowns. "Can you do that?" Gideon's advanced technology was much too difficult for a woman from 1942 to completely comprehend.

"Yes," the AI answered brightly. "I am fully equipped to research a wide variation of alternate realities. However, the process will take a sufficiently increased amount of time for completion."

"Do it," Amaya nods. "We'd best cover every corner that we can. Alert me when you've finished, and continue seeking changes in the timeline we reside in."

She turns away from her investigation to sit at the library's large wooden desk, and lets out a deep sigh. Books and maps cover the top of the dark oak. Nate's work, whatever that may be. The historian spent the most amount of time in the library - save for Captain Lance. And works on multiple projects at once, often letting his collections of research pile up.

Drumming her fingers on the desk, she chews her bottom lip while her thoughts run frantic. She's been on the Waverider for weeks now, having first come under the presumption that Heatwave had been the murderer of Hourman, the leader of the Justice Society of America. Amaya had snuck aboard the Waverider and attacked the burly arsonist from the shadows, only to land herself caged like a beast in the ship's holding cell, lost for answers and nowhere near catching her prey.

 _I'm failing him,_ she blinks, thinking of Rex and how far she was from avenging him. Tears build and Amaya attempts to will them away. Though it proves to be of no use. Her heart has been shattered.

Rex had been impressive from the beginning, with his Miraclo and sharp mind. He was honorable and admirable as a commander. He was patient and serious, level headed and strong. Everything someone of his ranking was expected to be. He'd worn different masks, as they say. A scientist, a military man, a secret agent, a superhero.

A lover, who'd held Amaya tightly with bed sheets draped over their naked, sweating bodies and whispered sweet promises in her ear. They'd vowed to be together, _truly_ together - after their time with the JSA had come to an end. They'd find a way, after their duties, to begin a life for themselves.

 _A life we will never have now,_ Amaya sniffles and wipes at her eyes. In her lap rests her left hand, a metallic and jeweled symbol of love and devotion decorating the third finger. It was simple, elegant; with a golden band and beautiful, sizable diamond.

" _Timeless," Rex had said, as he fingered a lock of her dark brown hair, twirling and twisting hypnotically. "Like you."_

" _Rex," she breathed, staring at the engagement ring he'd given on bended knee, her vision blurred by tears. The diamond and gold striking against her mocha colored skin. "It's too much. I can't-"_

" _You can," he'd said gently, a hand snaking around her thin waist to pull her closer. She leaned into him easily, fitting her small frame to his solid form._

 _Amaya sighed faintly and rested her cheek against his muscled chest, as she had so many times throughout their years together._

" _I plan on spending the rest of my days showering you with affection, Amaya." He kissed the top of her head softly and brought the tips of his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. "If you don't mind, I'd like to start today - right now, even. So long as you'll allow me…"_

 _She didn't bother to wipe away the tears that silently slipped down her cheeks. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, of course!"_

 _Rex flashed her a brilliant smile and cupped her face in both of his hands. His eyes shined and he leaned in closer to her, making her heartbeat at an impossible rate. As he came within inches from her, he whispered lowly, "You are everything to me, my darling."_

 _And Amaya felt herself melt into a kiss of such love and devotion and infinite trust, she could barely hang on to her surroundings. All that mattered was this moment, with her and Rex and the future that was theirs for the taking..._

"Gideon!" the shout makes Amaya practically jump out her own skin. She blinks and quickly turns her gaze to the doorway just as Nate rushes into the library.

He takes no notice of her, too involved in his own buzzing thoughts. His hands flick and fly about, animating his chaotic process of deductive reconstruction. He shrugs out of a heavy winter coat, revealing a rumpled shirt. It's clear he'd been having a difficult time finding sleep, even his hair sticks out in every direction.

"Gideon, I think I've come up with something!" Nate shouts at the AI, unaware that he is being watched by his newest teammate. "We know Rip is stranded somewhere in place and time, and if I could just get a better insight into the way he _thought._ The pattern in which he worked, yah know? Maybe there's a clue somewhere. If we look at his most visited destinations along the timeline, maybe we can narrow down a likely place he's hiding in."

"Mr. Heywood," The AI chirps, a monitor displaying a long list of various places throughout time. "Captain Hunter most frequented the year 2166."

"He wouldn't go there," Amaya softly speaks. She's uncertain if her statement is true. Perhaps Rip Hunter _would_ return to his own home and live out his days while his wife and child were lost to him forever. _She_ certainly could not do it.

"No," Nate shakes his head, barely glancing at her. "His own time would be way too risky…" His voice trails off in thought. It's but a split-second later that he snaps his face up and gapes at her tear streaked face. "Woah, hey. You okay?"

She wipes her eyes and clears her throat. "Just tired. I've been up all night, my eyes are a bit watery from reading."

Nate smirks at her and crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight to lean against the bookshelf he stands by. "You know, you're not that great at lying."

Amaya purses her lips together and glares at him. Rex had always teased her of the same and the memory stabbed at her heart. Again, her eyes fill.

He notices. "Hey, no, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm just messing around."

"What are you doing here?" She snaps. "It's the dead of night!"

"Couldn't sleep." Nate merely shrugs. "Despite Mrs. Jefferson's hospitality and amazing cooking, it felt weird trying to catch a few z's anywhere else."

"You feel at home on the ship."

He smiles, "Yeah. I guess so. I dunno, it feels nice to be part of a team."

Amaya bites her lower lip and casts her eyes down. She had - _has_ \- a team back home. Back in her own time. And she could not forget that, ever. She was not abandoning the JSA, but she could not return yet either. Not until Rex had been avenged.

 _If judged by the progress I've made, I could never return home._ She rises, needing to escape the room and find solitary.. She will _not_ cry in front of this _stranger_. "Excuse me," she moves around the desk, as quickly Nate steps before her and blocks her exit.

"Amaya," his voice is soft, but firm. "You can talk to me. What's wrong? Is it-"

"I am fine, Nathaniel." She frowns, and lifts her chin. "And I would rather be alone, please."

He doesn't move at first, fidgeting as he comes up with some sort of answer for her. "I don't think..." he begins, and runs a hand through his messy hair. "Alright. I'm sorry I barged in here and, look, if you decide you _don't_ want to be alone, I'm gonna be here for the rest of the night. You can help me work."

She wants to bark that she doesn't have time for _his_ work. _Her_ work, her _mission_ is the only one of importance. And, since the Legends have decided to set aside their searches for Captain Hunter and Hourman in order to relish in recreational time, any waking moment _she_ has is to be dedicated to the investigation.

But he's the first to pay mind to her condition. She nods her consent, "I'll help you."

He grins widely. "Great! Gideon, we're going to need some caffeine for this."

"Certainly, Doctor Haywood." The brief walk to the kitchen results in their needing to wait for the coffee to finish brewing. They wait, awkwardly standing around and avoiding the elephant in the room that is Amaya's deceased fiancé.

"I'm sorry," Nate breaks the tension quietly. His arms folded across his chest as he leans against the counter, waiting.

Amaya lets out a sigh, "Please, let us just dismiss it for the night."

He nods. "Right, right. Sometimes I dwell on stuff, sorry."

The coffee machine beeps twice, signifying the finishing of their coffee. Nate grabs two mugs from the cupboard and hands one to Amaya.

"So," she says. "What are we working on tonight?"

"Well," when he finishes pouring his coffee, he reaches out to fill her mug. "Like I said earlier, if we can just figure out Rip's pattern, his train of thought, we'd probably get an inkling of where he'd hide himself."

She takes a sip of her coffee, "Maybe he kept a journal."

"Maybe," Nate shrugs. "We'd have to look for it. Unless...Gideon? Any idea if Captain Hunter kept a diary?"

"Captain Hunter held personal files on the main computer in his study."

"Awesome!" Nate smiles.

"All of which were erased upon his departure."

He groans. "Damn it."

"Well," Amaya offers. "We still have the travel files to go through."

Taking their drinks with them, the two settled in the Captain's office, both monitors turned on and projecting lists of Rip's travels since gaining the Waverider. The agenda sporadically ran all over time, showing the Waverider landed in various places across the globe. Most were obvious assignments from the Time Masters to keep history and future alike in tact.

"Mexico again," Nate mutters. "May 20th, 1520. The Temple Massacre, as we historians call it." He looks over at Amaya, who takes notes of all the places he points out could possibly lead to a clue. "Westmoreland County, Virginia. February 22nd, 1732. George Washington's birth. April 14th, 1865. Assassination of Abraham Lincoln." He scratches his head. "Huh, didn't think Rip would be so interested in American history."

"America has shaped the entire world," she answer, eyes on the computer monitor. "For better and for worse."

"Yeah," he nods. "That hasn't really changed…"

"September 7th, 1996. Las Vegas." Amaya jots down the date on a notepad.

Using two fingers, Nate taps his forehead, heart and shoulders, making the sign of the cross. "RIP Makaveli."

Amaya frowns at him. "Who?"

"Uh," Nate scoffs. "Only the _greatest_ rapper of all time!"

She raises a delicate brow at him. "Wrapper? As in, for candy?"

He can't help the smile that reaches his face, finding her confusion adorable. "No, not like that. Rap is a type of music that emerged in the late 1970s. Makaveli - Tupac, actually - was one of the greatest of his time. But his career didn't last long, since he was murdered in a drive-by shooting."

She stares at the date, her face morphing to one of mixed confusion and interest. "Why was he murdered?"

"Gangs," Nate answers simply, as if that provided enough. "Real sad though, he was such a boss."

"He lead his own mafia?"

"Well, no, not in the sense that _you_ understand. But he was definitely a revolutionary for the music industry."

"Hello?!" Ray's voice rings through the halls of the Waverider, his stomps growing louder as he comes closer to their location. "Is anyone here?! I need help!"

Quickly, Nate and Amaya spring from their seats and run out of the office just as the Atom rounds the corner to the bridge. "Oh my _God_!" He pants. "Guys - I - Sara - big - _big_ \- snow - and - and - _then_ -"

"Woah, dude, take a breath." Nate clamps a hand on Ray's shoulder, trying to help hold him steady as the technologist bends slightly in exhaustion. "What about Sara?"

"She's _gone_!"

Amaya frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she literally vanished!" Ray straightens. His clothes are soaked and covered with snow and his nose and cheeks are red from being out in the cold for an extended amount of time. "Look, we ended up running into her dad - which, by the way, told us there's a super squad called the Legion of Doom terrorizing Central City. So, _definitely_ check into that. And then, then there was this, like, _crazy_ blizzard. I'm talking out of this world! I couldn't see, couldn't hear anything and it was _freezing_. When it finally stopped, Sara was gone!"

"Maybe she ran for shelter?" Nate supplies.

Ray shakes his head. "I thought of that, but every building around us was locked up."

"It's _Sara_ , don't you think she'd break her way in?"

"I mean, sure. But you guys don't understand. This storm was _intense_. There's no way she could have seen anything. I couldn't see my own hand before my face! It was nuts, absolutely insane."

"So what do we do?" Amaya looks between the men. "Obviously we have to find her."

Nate nods in agreement. "Yeah, but where?"

"We should call the rest of the team on the comms and send out a search party. Contact the Flash at S.T.A.R. Labs too - Sara's dad told us to talk them anyway. And - oh! Oh my _God_ , I can't believe I forgot this part! I mean, _you_ guys aren't gonna care as much because you didn't know him like _we_ did -"

"Who?" They say in unicent.

"Leonard Snart!" Ray practically shouts. "He's _alive_!"

They'd heard snippets of who he was from the others - mostly Jax and Professor Stein filling them in whenever they'd asked who used to occupy the empty, unused living quarters next to Heatwave's. Or they'd catch Rory swearing under his breath and muttering "If Snart were here…" and "Snart would've done it the _right_ way…" But never had they actually _known_ the man. And neither had they expect him to be alive, what with the team so completely certain that had perished nearly a year ago.

"How could he -?"

"Miss Jiwe," Gideon speaks over them. "As you requested, I have finished my analysis and have found no errors in any of the multiverse or alternate timelines."

She blinks, remembering how just an hour ago she'd been demanding for help in locating _anything_ to lead to an end in Rex's murder mystery. And again, her attention had been drawn elsewhere, thanks to the Legends. "Yes, thank you Gideon."

"However," the AI continues. "There _has_ been a change to the current timeline."


End file.
